


Fighting Instinct

by aintyouafraid



Category: You Could Make a Life Series - Taylor Fitzpatrick
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9907424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintyouafraid/pseuds/aintyouafraid
Summary: David knew that getting drafted first overall was a long-shot, that omegas have never gone first, have often gotten into the league on tryouts rather than the draft at all, but David is good. David knows he’s good, knows he’s worked for it harder than any of the alphas who joked about David’s lips and an alpha putting him on his knees. But Jake Lourdes still goes first overall.David hates him.





	1. (Un)Well

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youcouldmakealife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/gifts).
  * Inspired by [between the teeth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8393572) by [youcouldmakealife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife). 



> I have loved David Chapman ever since he's existed, and I also love A/B/O and think that David the Reluctant Omega needs all the fic. So, write the fic you want to see in the world.
> 
> This is basically between the teeth with a few world-buildy modifications, but I've tried to keep much of the dialogue and original events the same. However, because there are such fundamental differences in an A/B/O setting, I'll be getting fairly canon-divergent after the first chapter.
> 
> Also, David's internalized homophobia extends to his perceptions of being an omega, so expect some more of that.
> 
> P.S. If you haven't, go read nice spot by Rest for some more A/B/O David Chapman/Jake Lourdes.

David hates Jake Lourdes.

David knew that getting drafted first overall was a long-shot, that omegas have never gone first, have often gotten into the league on tryouts rather than the draft at all, but David is good. David knows he’s good, knows he’s worked for it harder than any of the alphas who joked about David’s lips and an alpha putting him on his knees. David has been on suppressants almost ever since he presented, and despite the dulling in his senses, he could smell the acrid hatred and resentment underneath.

He’s sure that even through the suppressants, those who get close to him backstage can still smell a hint of his fury, his bitterness, and worse, his disappointment. But that doesn’t stop Jake Lourdes coming up to him and radiating his happiness all around him.

“You did great last season,” Lourdes tells him. “Like, weren’t you breaking all those Q records?”

“Well,” David snaps. “I did well.”

“No,” Lourdes says, “You did great, seriously. Better than great.”

“Better than you,” David says. David had the better season, has the better stats, has more consistency, but Jake Lourdes is an alpha so he goes first. Of course he does. David bets he’s been handed everything he’s ever had, and they gave it to him with a smile.

“Be really proud you got first place because of your hormones instead of your play,” David says. He’s so angry, projecting it everywhere, that it probably covers up how much Jake’s hormones fluster David in an entirely different way. He hates that too; the extent to which his body can betray him.

“David,” Lourdes says.

“Who said you could call me that?” David asks. “Enjoy Florida,” he spits before Lourdes can say anything else, and the whole thing would have felt more cathartic if he could have stormed off instead of taking pictures after, fake smiles plastered on both of their faces and the poor guy who got drafted third and can sense the animosity.

It doesn't get any better when the season actually starts. David trained hard, bulked up as much as he could when his stupid, young, omega body fought him every step of the way, but commentators still called him small. He tries to ignore it, but the fact that they’re practically calling him dainty grates on his nerves. He may not be as big as the average hockey player, but he is fast and he can score. He may not be Jake Lourdes, who plays just on the edge of illegal and has scored more dirty goals than David’s pretty ones, and some may say that is him playing like an omega, but David tries not to listen. He plays clean, and if he were an alpha, he would be rewarded for it.

They host the Panthers on the 19th of November, and the media attention is ridiculous. David didn’t realize how much they’ve made of their little storyline until every single question that afternoon is about Lourdes. He’s glad that the locker room is constantly bathed in scent-blockers, both so the players don’t have to smell each other’s sweat and so reporters can’t comment on biological impulses in their articles. He doesn’t need assholes like Benson commenting on his scent on top of everything else.

The game itself is a clusterfuck, in part due to a messy turnover on David’s part that leaves him just as frustrated at himself as he is at the media and Jake fucking Lourdes, who didn’t even have the goal but is all anyone wants to talk about again. David does his best not to give them anything, but they keep nagging at it, picking at it like it’s a scab that they’re just testing enough before he falls apart, and eventually he does.

“I don’t know why you keep asking me about him,” David snaps, forgetting, for a moment, the nice, polite, non-committal, omega answer they’re expecting. “As far as I’m concerned, Jake Lourdes is completely irrelevant.”

He knows it’s a mistake as soon as he’s said it, but David can’t go back now, and he definitely can’t show any fear. If he can never be a good enough omega or a good enough hockey player, he can definitely never show the wolves his weakness.

Still, after that, the media’s all over the stupid Chapman-Lourdes rivalry, and it’s no one but David’s fault. But he keeps his head down, thinks of the disappointment in Dave’s voice after he had called, and their rivalry fades into the background of a sub-par season for the Islanders and a worse one for the Panthers.

But just as David starts feeling good about the season, at least in terms of his production if not the Islanders’ performance as a whole, it all comes crashing down again the next time they play the Panthers. For the most part, they’ve been playing tighter games recently, more one or two goal losses, but by the time they leave the first period, the Islanders are down 4-0.

They don’t get any better in the second. They’ve been playing chippy, defensive hockey all night and it doesn't look like that’s going to change soon. David has the puck for one of the few times the Isles get to advance down the ice, but he can’t get a pass, and he can’t chop and chase, so he ends up carrying the puck and hoping that he can out-speed any of the Panthers looking to check him for just long enough for someone to get open, but David’s life never goes according to plan. David’s just past the blue line when he’s crushed against the boards at an awkward angle that brings him down, shoulder throbbing, and he’s unsurprised to see Lourdes’ face above him when the whistle goes. He is surprised how shocked Jake looks, and if it weren’t for his dirty history, David would think he was even trying to say sorry when the ref came to skate him to the box for boarding.

They don’t score on the powerplay, and the game ends with the Panthers winning handily.

All David wants to do is go home to his own apartment and his own bath and his own bed, but when he manages to dodge the media to get to the bus going back to the hotel, he does so only to run into Jake Lourdes leaning against the wall like he belongs there, which maybe he thinks he does because he’s the young alpha superstar.

“You okay?” Lourdes asks. “I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

David bristles. He almost bares his teeth in a primal, feral defense because he is not weak. He can take a hit, he’s been a hockey player for years and he’s in the NHL, he has to be able to take a hit, but the only thing people can seem to focus on is the fact that he’s too pretty, too small, too omega to play this sport that he loves and has dedicated his entire life to. He’s tired of people thinking he’s something delicate that’s going to break, and he’s sure his face pulls into a barely contained snarl when he asks “Are you serious right now? You come by after a rout to say sorry for hurting me?”

Lourdes looks confused, like an omega has never refused his serious face and big eyes when he decides to use them, and David is sick of him and his apparent ability to get whatever he wants whenever he wants it. He’s not getting it this time, because David will never give him what he wants. He’s good at doing the opposite of what everyone wants and expects of him.

“I’m not going to apologize for winning,” he says after a pause. “If that’s what you’re asking for.”

David actually does snarl this time, low and warning in the back of his throat. “I’m not asking for anything from you,” he snaps. Just the implication of asking anything from an alpha makes him feel sick. He’s not a simpering, submissive omega.

“Okay,” Lourdes says, puts his palms up, placating, and David wants to punch him in his stupid face just to show him that he can – that an omega can. “Look,” Lourdes says. “I really am sorry, okay. I know the media’s been, like, obsessing about us and all, but I really didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t even get it, you don’t play anything like me.”

David’s torn between agreement and a pointed jab about how he plays better than Lourdes does and arguing just because he hates the idea of agreeing with the not-so-subtle reminder that David plays like an omega. He settles for a bitten “fine,” which is not really either.

“We cool?” Lourdes asks.

“We’re fine,” David grits out, hoping that Lourdes know fine is a carefully chosen diplomatic word and not an invitation for any further interaction, but Lourdes instead looks contented by that. He almost goes to clap his hand against David’s shoulder before he visibly stops, hopefully rightfully recognizing that David truly would punch him if he tried. David gets to choose who touches him, not random alphas, and David does not want Jake Lourdes touching him, on the ice or off it.

“Um,” Lourdes says, pulls his hands back and stuffs them in his pockets. It’s an oddly submissive reaction for an alpha, and David takes some pride in making Lourdes that uncomfortable. “Cool. See you in February?”

“Looking forward to it,” David says, and he is, just so they can wipe the Panthers across the ice and David can shove it in Lourdes face in the same passive aggressive manner. It probably doesn’t matter much to Lourdes, who as good as dismissed David with his comment about their play styles, but even as David hates himself for dwelling on it, he’s still looking forward to it.

What both of them apparently forgot that All-Star weekend falls in January and as the two top players in the rookie points race, they’re both invited. Lourdes gets picked first because of course he does, but he makes this mock-humble shocked face that raises David’s hackles just a little more. David isn’t even picked second, and before he can decide if he would rather be passed over again just to avoid Lourdes or be picked higher because he should have been picked second, Samuelsson’s picking him.

David goes up to the front, jaw tight, tighter when Lourdes leans in to say “We got this easy, huh, Chapman?” just loud enough for the cameras to get. At least he didn’t try to touch David because then he wouldn’t have been able to say “sure” with a polite smile and Dave would kill him.

David tries to avoid him on the ice for the mock practice they have afterward, which shouldn’t be hard because David actually cares about how he plays this weekend and Lourdes is leaning against the boards at centre-ice, alpha posturing for two of his friends from juniors, but of course Lourdes gestures him over.

Conscious of the cameras, David reluctantly glides to a stop next to them.

Lourdes introduces both of them, apparently not dissuaded by David’s best blank, disinterested face, and then proceeds to invite David to get a drink with them.

“Right,” David says. “No, because I actually want to play well tomorrow. Maybe it’s different for alphas who are only rookies because they weren’t good enough to play the year they were drafted.”

David feels dimly guilty, because Markson’s never done shit to him. He doesn’t apologize though, bites his tongue and skates to the end of the rink, figures he’ll apologize to Markson tomorrow when he presumably doesn’t have a pack of alphas who couldn’t wait for David to apologize surrounding them.

After practice and a few more minor media things, everyone heads back to the hotel. David separates from the alphas and betas pretty quickly, not interested in going out and hearing the comments some of them will feel free to say to him after an illegal beer or two. It doesn’t really matter because there’s plenty of drinking in the hotel rooms anyway. David doesn’t know where they got it from, and he doesn’t particularly care as long as he can avoid the guys who are getting plastered. His roommate is one of those guys, but he was a polite Quebecois kid before he wandered off to go get drunk, and David doesn’t think he’ll do anything stupid, so it’s probably fine.

David’s asleep fairly early, drifting off to The Daily Show, and when he wakes up to a burst of laughter, the TV’s off, his roommate’s snoring in the next bed, and the digital clock beside his bed reads 2:23.

David can appreciate that at least Bruyere was as polite and quiet coming back as David expected, but he envies his alcohol-heavy sleep when there’s exaggerated shushing right outside their door. David groans and gets up, finding a hoodie on top of his duffle and zipping it up over his bare chest before he goes to the door. He’s unsurprised to find Lourdes, Markson and Petersen in a huddle outside when he opens it.

“How are you this much of a lightweight?” Markson asks, just loud enough to make David positive that he’s not sober either, and Lourdes says something too low for David to hear, to which Petersen responds, exasperated sounding, “we’re not even staying here tonight, I live here, so find your keycard so we can go home.”

Peterson spots him then, eyes narrowing, and David tries not to shrink back at the force of his stare and David’s own guilt.

“Hey asshole,” he says. “Come and help or go to bed, no one needs any more of your superior bullshit.”

David does get his keycard and go to help, unsure how to say he’s sorry without it appearing submissive and weak.

“Hold him up or check his pockets,” Petersen says when David comes over. “Your pick.”

David blanches a little because neither option gives him a way to not touch Lourdes, but he ends up taking Markson’s place, Lourdes’ arm heavy around his shoulders, a crushing weight against David’s side because he figures that’s better than routing through an alpha’s pockets.

Lourdes looks at David when he takes his arm with a stupid, bleary smile on his face. There’s a sharp burst of something from him, and David tries not to inhale too much of it.

“Chapman,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Shut up, Lourdes,” Petersen says under his breath, a faint scent of annoyance wafting off of him, and David likes him more for it.

Markson makes a triumphant sound, his hand in Lourdes’ back pocket, and pulls out a keycard, which he uses to open the door, keeping it ajar while David and Petersen struggle to move over two-hundred pounds of unyielding weight.

As Peterson and Markson turn to head out, David uses the darkness to say “Sorry about today.”

“Whatever,” Markson says. “We’re heading out, and Jake technically shares this room with me, so if you find him aspirin and a glass of water we’re cool.”

They leave, and David goes back to his room, rifling through his duffel as silently as possible until he finds some painkillers, grabbing a bottle of water he’d already put into the mini-fridge, and heading to Lourdes’ room, where he’s passed out, fully dressed, where David and Petersen left him.

David puts the water and the meds on the bedside table, along with the keycard, and even though he’s already done more than he normally ever would for an alpha, he’s fairly sure Lourdes is too out of it to think of the implications of an omega taking care of him even as perfunctorily as David is.

He considers doing only as much as Markson asked from him, leaving Lourdes there to suffer in the morning, but they’re on the same team, at least for tomorrow, and David doesn’t like to lose, would never willingly sabotage his chances, so he shoves at Lourdes’ shoulder until he responds with a groan.

“Get up, Lourdes,” David says, “You’re still in your coat.”

Lourdes groans again, but with some more strategic shoving, he half sits up. “Chapman?” he says, squinting up at David in the dim light.

“Get undressed,” David says, to another spark of something in Lourdes scent. “Drink this water. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

David leaves after that, hoping that Lourdes followed his instructions and doesn’t go bragging to his teammates that an omega begged him to get undressed last night in the morning.

David goes back to his hotel room, tries to go to sleep in the nest of blankets, but it’s not quite right and Bruyere is still snoring, reminding David that he isn’t at home, is with a strange beta in a hotel room hours away.

He must eventually fall asleep because he wakes up groggy in the morning. He feels a little better when he sees that Lourdes looks worse, red eyes and a slump to his wide shoulders.

He seems to come back fine, though, skates up to David at warm-up, towering over David where he’s on his knees, stretching.

“What?” David says flatly. He hates it when alphas do that towering thing, hates how it practically gives him a crick in his neck trying to meet their eyes, makes him feel small (and that part of him likes that feeling).

“Marksy said you helped out last night,” Lourdes says. “Thanks.”

“Whatever,” David says, partly annoyed that Lourdes got that drunk before a game but happy that he doesn’t remember the details of the previous night.

Better than okay, it turns out. He’s on David’s wing on the first line, seems to have a sense of where David’s going to end up, sending passes that connect firm, stay grounded, the best kind of set-up David could get. The score’s ridiculous, like it always is during all-stars, 10-8, but it’s in their favour, and David’s got two goals, both with Lourdes assisting, and Lourdes has one of his own. They’re on the ice when the time ticks down, and Lourdes crashes into him, practically bowls him over, forehead knocking against David’s helmet.

Because they’re on the ice, David doesn’t shove him away. Lourdes reeks, sweat and hormones everywhere, but it’s not unlike any of the other times with his teammates on the Islanders.

“Not bad, Chapman,” he shouts, and David, always happy to win but a little upset about just how much he’s reacting to Lourdes’ scent and praise, can’t help but give him a thin smile.

The adrenaline doesn’t last though because the win doesn’t mean anything and David is quietly simmering over what happened after the time ran out. He snaps at Lourdes when he comes over in the dressing room after the game, towel slung low on his hips and hair sticking damply to his forehead, saying, “Good game, bud,” mad at himself and mad at Lourdes for getting this kind of reaction from him.

It only gets worse when he gets his heat on the way back to New York, way too early and trickle in despite his suppressants. Team doctors brush it off as not having the normal break most omegas in the league get, too much time without one that his body staged a revolt, but David knows it was Lourdes and his stupid alpha pheromones that triggered it and David is furious. He’s out for a week with it, just long enough that his first game back is against Florida.

He sulks around, knowing that even with suppressants and scent-blockers, the faint smell of heat or rut can always seep through. He sticks near Brouwer, who won’t say anything and tends to ward off anyone that will. Neither of them say anything, and David is grateful for the quiet sounds of Brouwer’s paper turning being the only thing he hears.

The game itself wasn’t pretty, but it was a win, and it was a win against the Panthers, against Lourdes, who never really hit the ice at the same time as David. It was a win, but David doesn’t feel the way he thinks he should, fidgety when the beat reporters come over to him, though he thinks he hides it well enough, full of excess energy humming through him, like he needs to go hit up the hotel gym after, swim laps in the overchlorinated pool, run a few kilometres until his blood stops singing. He hopes it’s just the post-heat, and not the slide back in to another one, even if it’s guaranteed to be light and only for a day or two.

Still, he lags behind – David doesn’t want to go back with the team, the idea of the bus and all those alphas around him making him feel claustrophobic, so says he’ll take a cab, since it’s a short ride anyway. Kurmazov gives him a look and then shrugs it off, tells him not to go out and get in trouble, as if David would.

He dawdles for a while, making sure he won’t get hauled onto the bus, and when he leaves the arena’s hollow around him, except for the fact that just down the hall, hands in his suit pockets and hair curling wetly around his ears, is Jake Lourdes.

“Good,” Lourdes says, straightening up. “I thought I missed you or something, but Benny said you were hanging around awhile.”

David frowns, bristling a little at the mention of Benson. There are a bunch of questions to ask, here, number one being why Lourdes is waiting around for him, but the one that comes out of his mouth is “Benny?”

“Benson?” Lourdes says. “Freckles? Tiny?”

Benson is maybe one inch shorter than David, max. David scowls deeper. “I know who he is,” he snaps. “What are you doing talking to him?”

“He played with me in under-18,” Lourdes says, and he’s starting to frown as well, which is good, because maybe then he’ll leave and stop bothering David. “You know, when we won gold.”

Even when Lourdes can’t rub the win from this game in his face, he manages to find another, one that still stings.

“Why are you here?” David asks, since Lourdes doesn’t seem inclined to actually explain what he’s doing – which is harassing David, probably messing with his hormones enough that David will go into heat again damn it – when he probably has plenty of better things to do. Maybe there aren’t any omegas sprawled on his lap to celebrate a win, but he’s sure someone would be willing to commiserate, especially since there are so many losses the Panthers would never be able to go out otherwise.

“Why don’t you like me?” Lourdes asks.

“What?” David asks, blank.

“That’s why I’m here,” Lourdes says.

“You’re here because I don’t like you?” David asks.

“I’m here because I want to know why you don’t like me,” Lourdes says.

“Are you serious right now?” David asks, and Lourdes gives him a look that makes it clear that he is indeed serious about going around asking people why they don’t like him.

David’s got a half-dozen responses on his tongue, but he holds back, weighs them, and they stick in his throat because each one would sound stupid, petty, if he said them out loud. There’s so many things about being an omega playing hockey that makes him dislike alphas, how easy they have it and how much harder some of them like Benson make it for David when they treat him as a temporary fixture meant to be subservient and pretty somewhere else. But he doesn’t know how to articulate that in a way that Lourdes or any other alpha will understand, so there’s really nothing to say at all.

David hates him even more for that, for making David feel like he’s being mean and rude, when he knows he isn’t. Something about Lourdes pisses him off, puts his teeth on edge, but even though David instinctually hates him, his body is also instinctually and stupidly attracted to him. He needs a reason to hate Lourdes, he needs a reason he can say, needs to pull out one that’s faultless, so he steps forward, chin up so he’s looking Lourdes straight in the eye, Lourdes looking straight back, confused, impassive, pretty much no reaction at all, and David will change that, he can change that, so he takes Lourdes by his stupid fucking salmon coloured tie, the fabric slick under his fingers but just enough to hold onto, leans up to press his mouth against Lourdes’ slack lips, which are pink-bitten like always, something David’s noticed every time he’s seen him.

Lourdes is still against him, a line of tense muscle, before he pulls back, his tie slipping through David’s fingers, hisses, “Are you nuts?”, and there’s the reason, there’s the reason to hate him. He’s just like the others, thinking David is too assertive, too determined, too much just because he’s an omega. Lourdes will laugh about how eager for it David is, or use it against him, and he’s going to expose himself as the shitty person David knows he has to be, because he plays like an asshole.

David should feel satisfied, but his stomach drops, and all he feels is vaguely nauseous, and not just because he put the one thing he trusts no one with into the hands of someone he doesn’t trust at all. His first kiss, at least his first kiss with a guy and an alpha, which is the combination of genders that David likes for whatever reason, maybe just to make his own life harder, is important. And he did it to prove something to someone who’ll probably use it against him.

Lourdes is looking down at David, who sets his jaw and looks right back up at him, looks him in the eye, because he’s not weak, he’s not backing down, and whatever Lourdes has to say, he’s not getting a downcast, apologetic look from David.

“There are people everywhere,” Lourdes says, which isn’t what David expected but is a valid point. Before he can ask Lourdes if anyone saw them, he’s saying, “Shit, I’m crashing at Goldman’s right now, I can tell him to head to his girlfriend’s?”

“What?” David asks, blank.

“Like, if you want to come over. I mean, if you want to!” He says, arms up in and hands waving around nervously. “I don’t want to assume and we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I just… I decorated a little bit, not much, but you know. Might be more comfortable. Private.”

Lourdes’ cheeks are kind of pink. David would think he was blushing, propositioning an omega – propositioning David – but that’s stupid. Lourdes has done this before, has to have, and he can’t be this flustered about David.

“What?” David repeats, voice cracking over the word. It’s embarrassing, but just the thought of Lourdes trying to impress him, show off what he can provide even though David makes just as much money – maybe more after their rookie contracts are up and David shows he’s the more consistent, reliable player – it gets to him.

“Do you want to?” Lourdes asks, eager, and David doesn’t know what to do with that, never thought that Lourdes would like guys, has only ever seen him with tiny, blonde female omegas draped along his side. David didn’t think his action through, maybe, not properly, but he definitely wasn’t expecting Lourdes to invite him over.

“Okay,” he says, because he refuses to be the kind of person to start things he doesn’t finish, and the last thing he needs is Lourdes calling him an omega tease to the rest of the league. That’s what David tells himself at least, because while he can admit privately that he wants this, he’ll never give an inch publicly. Besides, Lourdes has as much as David to lose, doing something with a guy, even if he is an omega.

They get a cab, and Lourdes sits politely far away from David, only leaning over to quietly affirm that Goldman has gone to his girlfriend’s. David feels colour rise in his cheeks unwillingly, a small jolt of heat running through him at the implication. He can’t meet Lourdes’ eyes, knows that he can probably smell how much David wants it. David hunches in on himself, trying to control himself and still feeling the heat in his cheeks thinking about Lourdes’ mouth against his, a slightly wet press, caught off guard.

They stop in front of a fairly non-descript apartment building, and Lourdes reaches for his wallet, which David wants to beat him to it, show that he doesn’t need anyone to provide for him, can do so for himself, but he doesn’t have cash on him and his credit card’s still sitting in front of his computer at home from when he stayed up too late the night before he left, lured in by Amazon and soft-looking nondescript rugs that would make the gleaming hardwood floors of his apartment a little warmer.

Lourdes pays and they get out. He doesn’t move towards the door, scrutinizing David before sighing when David won’t meet his eyes. He heads towards the door, holding up a fob there and again in the elevator when he presses the button for the sixth floor. He hesitates after they walk down the hall, teeth worrying his stupid lips.

“Can you give me a minute? Please?”

David bristles a little. Even if he thought Lourdes might chicken out, some part of him is still disappointed at being right. “If you don’t want to, I can just go home.”

“No!” Lourdes all but shouts. David startles, and Lourdes clears his throat. “No, I just… Goldie and I don’t get much company and I just want to make sure it’s nice when you see it.”

“I don’t care what your apartment looks like.” It’s just a back-drop to whatever is about to happen, and Lourdes’ shoulders sort of hunch then drop, defeated, but he opens the door. “So this is home,” Lourdes says awkwardly. “I’m just chilling with Goldman for the year, he usually takes in rookies. I figure I’ll get somewhere new next year.”

“I don’t care,” David says, flat, because he doesn’t like Lourdes trying to impress him, treating him like David’s just another omega who alphas think need someone to provide for them.

“Oh. Do you want a drink?” he asks, after a pause, sounding unsure, and David can’t take all of this ceremony.

“Can we just go to your room?” David asks. If Lourdes keeps offering him outs he’s going to take one, practically shaking with nerves by now, not that he’s letting it show, at least he hopes not. Wonders if that’s Lourdes’ plan or something.

“Yeah,” Lourdes says. “Let me just make sure it’s clean.”

David doesn’t protest this time, letting Lourdes abandon him in the hallway as his palms sweat with heat and anticipation and anxiety, hopes that his suppressants are blocking most of it.

Lourdes comes back after a fairly extended time, changed into jeans and a t-shirt, which makes David feel even more awkward in his game day suit. “Sorry, it’s all good now. Uh, come in?”

David follows Lourdes into the room. The furniture is nothing special, probably just whatever Goldman keeps for the rookies, but David notes how Lourdes has half-heartedly made the bed, soft-looking blankets strewn haphazardly over the comforter, and shoved clothes into drawers that are slightly overflowing with crumpled up t-shirts and sweats. There’s some X-Box games scattered across the dresser next to a TV so large that David bets Lourdes got it because no one would leave that in a guest room. One of the rugs that David was looking at on Amazon is on the floor, and David tries to make a mental note to not get that one as he tries to avoid Lourdes hopeful eyes, not give him any sign of approval that would boost his alpha ego any further.

He goes to sit on the bed, trying not to finger the blankets to see how nice they actually are, and Lourdes sits beside him, legs spread so his knee touches David’s. It’s somewhat tentative, but when David doesn’t move away, Lourdes inches closer, pivoting so that his body curling around David’s, one of his shoulders reaching all the way to the other side of David’s body as he leans over despite sitting next to him. He reaches in to curve a hand around David’s jaw, mouth brushing David’s again, lingering when David doesn't pull away, tentatively moves into it. It lasts longer than the first time, and if David felt like his heart was in his throat then, this time it’s dropped all the way to the pit of his stomach.

David can’t help the way his eyes flutter shut then, overwhelmed by the way Lourdes’ tongue slides, slick, into his mouth, more obscene than anything he’s ever experienced, one hand holding David still, firm against his jaw. He grabs at Lourdes waist, trying to ground himself, and doesn’t stop it when Lourdes curves a hand around the back of his neck, tries not to think about how claiming the touch is when his fingers tangle in his hair. David’s breath hitches, inhaling the intoxicating scent of Lourdes arousal, and if Lourdes couldn’t smell him before, his response now has to be seeping through the suppressants. David has never felt so aroused in his life, he’s burning with it.

Lourdes kisses him like he’s done it before, not that David would necessarily know the difference, but he thinks the way Lourdes kisses him is easy, languid despite the intensity, and it’s all David can do to keep up.

Both of them are panting when Lourdes breaks the kiss, pupils blown wide as he stares at David. “Can I blow you?” Lourdes asks, and David’s head snaps up. He doesn’t look like he’s teasing or anything, eyes half lidded, mouth wet and pink, straining the front of his jeans when David can’t stop himself from looking down. “You don’t have to reciprocate. I just… God, I really want to.”

David’s never heard of an alpha offering that to an omega, always heard alphas talking about putting omegas on their knees, maybe eating them out if they’re good, whatever that means, but not this. David can’t really say anything, but whatever’s in his scent must be good enough for Lourdes because he’s fiddling with David’s belt, looking into his eyes like he’s searching for any sign that David wants him to stop, but that’s the last thing David wants right now. He lifts his hips once Lourdes has his fly open, trying to urge him on without appearing too eager.

It feels weird for a second, sitting half-clothed with a fully-clothed alpha right in front of him, but he forgets his discomfort as soon as Lourdes’ mouth is on him. David can’t help it, he’s never felt anything like this before, never expected to feel anything like this ever, and he thrusts up and Lourdes – Lourdes just takes it.

It’s probably some stupid instinct, something David would normally resist, but he feels overwhelmed and he just wants to see Lourdes’ face. He pushes Lourdes’ hair back, looks back at eyes somewhere between gold and green until it becomes too much. Closing his eyes just makes everything feel like more, but it’s all David can do to just hold on.

When David pushes up, he doesn’t stop him, doesn’t gag, just takes it, makes a noise around him like he wants it, wants David to fuck his throat, and David can’t resist shoving into the heat of his mouth, pulls back only to come against his tongue, and Lourdes just takes that too, swallowing around him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when David shoves him off after a few seconds, oversensitive. Even if there isn’t any of David’s come on the sheets, his slick has all but drenched them, and as much as David doesn’t want to give an alpha anything he wants, especially not Lourdes, he wants Lourdes to remember this, to think about David just as much as David thinks about him, and he wants him in his mouth, wants to taste him, so he ends up cradled between Lourdes’ thighs, breathless, Lourdes stretching his mouth wide even without his knot.

Lourdes is vocal, way more than David was, and there’s some primal satisfaction at how quickly Lourdes comes undone, how much power David has over him in that moment when he comes, David swallowing around him. Every part of Lourdes is big, and David feels completely surrounded by him as Lourdes arches over him, the warmth of his thighs bracketing David’s shoulders. It isn’t just physical – Lourdes is radiating pheromones that overwhelm even David’s dulled senses.

When he’s finished, Lourdes reaches down and brushes at the corner of David’s mouth. His fingers come away slick because there’s no way David can swallow everything, knot or not.

He and Lourdes are just sitting there, sprawled along the bed half-naked and watching each other come down and even after everything that’s just happened, it’s too much for David. He reaches for his underwear, breaking eye contact as he does. He wants to ask where the bathroom is, knows that if he puts anything on now it’ll just get soaked, but he doesn’t know how.

“The bathroom is across the hall, you know, if you want to clean up.”

David nods and heads in that direction. He hopes that’s Lourdes attempt at being polite, hopes that he’s not that transparent.

After he’s found a washcloth and wicked away all of the slick and as much of the scent of it as possible, he returns to Lourdes’ room, underwear on, shirt adjusted, and tie re-done. When he reaches for his suit pants, Lourdes asks, “Heading out?”

His voice is gravelly, fucked out, and that sends another burst of heat through David, but it’s fading fast, apparently just as satisfied with David’s recent activities as David himself is.

“Curfew,” David says, abrupt, even though it can’t be for awhile, and Lourdes definitely knows that.

“Cool,” Lourdes says anyway, sitting up, “see you in a month?”

David looks up from doing up his belt then, and Lourdes is grinning at him, almost bashful looking, and David is suddenly furious. He isn’t going to just fall at Lourdes’ feet, become another omega in another harbor for Lourdes to fuck when he isn’t home. Does he seriously expect to come to David’s home ice and do anything with him on David’s turf?

“See you for the game,” David says coolly, hoping that he’s conveyed just how much this was a mistake, as he puts himself back together. Whatever just happened, David has it out of his system now. He can get back on the ice in a month and face Lourdes and hate him just like any other alpha, except now he knows that he’s managed to make Lourdes a panting, red-faced mess. It’s never going to happen again, but now that he’s reduced Lourdes to this, he can get back to playing better hockey than him, and beat him that way.

He doesn’t know if Lourdes gets it because he offers to call David a cab, all chivalrous alpha bullshit, and David hopes he gets it through his thick skull when David says “I’ll do it myself.”


	2. Status Check

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update to anyone still reading. I got pneumonia during the second-to-last month of university and it was awful; 0/10, would definitely not recommend. I am finally awake enough and not busy catching up to continue writing for fun again and hopefully it'll be much quicker updates from here on out!
> 
> Thank you for all of the lovely comments and kudos! I promise I read them all and will reply soon once I am more functional ❤️

It’s out of his system. That’s what David tells himself whenever he’s overwhelmed by self-loathing, disgusted that he was just like everyone else, swooning at Jake Lourdes’ feet. He’s probably not the only omega who Lourdes slept with that month or even that week, and he hopes he’s not the first one to regret it. Even if it was good at the time, and David can’t help thinking about the physical aspects of the encounter when he’s alone, he felt cheap after, and still feels something raw when he jerks off now. 

It’s out of his system, and the only place he’s going to see Lourdes is on the ice for the last game between the Panthers and Islanders for the season. 

They get the win when they do play the Panthers, and even though it’s not pretty, it’s something for David to hold onto in the mess of the season, that the Islanders and David evened the score for the season. David won’t have to see Lourdes until the Awards, until he’s snatching that trophy from under his entitled, smirking alpha face because where Lourdes has been streaky, David has been consistent and his points are starting to get the edge in the middle of another one of Lourdes’ slumps.

David shouldn’t have got his hopes up. Lourdes is standing outside the locker room when David leaves, hair damp and tie hanging crooked like he rushed a little, but otherwise put together. David hates him so much it hurts.

“What are you doing here?” David hisses, voice low so he doesn’t alert the room, doesn’t alert the rest of the team to an alpha sniffing around him when David has been pretty good at limiting the sexist omega comments from everyone except Benson.

The stupid grin Lourdes plastered on when David walked out doesn't fall from his face, he looks stupid, smiling outside of the home locker room in an away arena after a bad loss. He steps closer to David, too close, closer than David wants anyone, let alone an alpha, to get to him in a context outside of a goal celebration. He reaches up, and David flinches back, but not obvious enough to stop Lourdes from tucking a piece of David’s hair back.

David flushes, wants to snarl and chew Lourdes’ head off because what does he even think he’s doing, but all he can do is gape up at him, resentful of the size that Lourdes has on him and how much his body is taking an interest in Lourdes’ being this close.

“I was wondering–” Lourdes starts. 

“Jake motherfucking Lourdes!” David hears from behind him, and he flinches back from Lourdes even as dread settles into his stomach. He turns to confirm that it’s Taylor Benson, because of course it is. 

Benson tells Lourdes that they’re going for drinks, and David thinks he can take this opportunity to slip away, but Lourdes is looking at him over Benson’s head even as he replies. David doesn’t know why, can’t read the look on his face, and maybe that’s why he keeps looking back.

Benson must notice he’s not a key figure in his own conversation anymore because he turns and looks at David, smirking as he says “You too, Chaps. We’ll sneak you a few.”

David bristles. Before he can wipe that patronizing look off of Benson’s face, Lourdes cuts in. “Actually, David and I were just going to get something to eat. Another time. 

Benson shrugs and walks off. David makes sure he’s out of earshot before he rounds on Lourdes. “You don’t get to make decisions for me.” 

Lourdes puts his hands up in that stupid placating way, like he thinks David needs to be handled, and David’s desire to fight just increases. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. You just smelled off when Benson came out and I–” 

David snarls and pushes Lourdes right in the middle of his chest between his stupid hands. Lourdes looks shocked that David has managed to pin him against the wall, and maybe David would be too if he wasn’t so furious.

“ _Don’t_ scent me. How can you even tell anything?”

Lourdes at least looks a little abashed. “Sorry. I, um, didn’t mean to. You just smell really strong. Only to me though!” he adds at David’s no doubt horrified face. “Everyone else says they can’t smell you at all really. Makes it hard for them to know if they get you off your game.”

David pushes off of Lourdes, putting at least a foot between them. He doesn’t think Lourdes even knows what he just said, but if he can smell David that well when he’s taking the strongest possible suppressants and he also triggered David’s heat, it means they’re the highest level of compatible.

Seriously, David can’t handle any of this, doesn’t want to think about what people will say if anyone finds out. But as far as the confused look on Lourdes’ face indicates, David is the only one who knows. Now he just has to keep it that way.

David is about to turn and storm off when Lourdes slouches down to look David in the eyes.

“So I know this hasn’t exactly gone well, but you want to get out of here?”

It’s a bad idea, but under the twist of anger, lust is still running through David’s system, maybe even more so now that his mind has caught up with his body and knows that sex with Lourdes will probably be some of the best he ever has. It also makes David angrier, that _this_ has to be the alpha his body is fixated on, but he can brush that aside when Lourdes is looking at him with blown pupils and flushed cheeks like just the thought of sleeping with David –

“Okay,” David breathes because he is weak.

David doesn’t drive so they catch a cab to his apartment. Things are fairly quiet in the cab before Lourdes says, “Do they always treat you like that?”

“Benson and alpha friends? Pretty much,” David says. 

“That’s fucked up,” Lourdes says. “They’re supposed to be team.”

David shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

“Okay, _that’s_ fucked up,” Lourdes says.

“It is what it is,” David says. “Alphas and insecure betas have commented on my status all my life; it’s nothing new.”

Lourdes looks like he’s going to say something, but doesn’t, watching David hard instead, scrutiny that David’s more than used to, but is never going to like.

It’s not that far to David’s place, and David takes advantage of knowing when they’re getting close to beat Lourdes to the fare. Lourdes stands too close to him in the elevator, but David can’t blame him. They both know where this is heading and if Lourdes is feeding off his scent like David is feeding off of his, then he’s just glad Lourdes is also showing some restraint and not actually mauling him in the elevator. David’s been half-hard since the bar and he’s this close to slicking up if Lourdes keeps touching him like that. 

Lourdes is plastered against his back as soon as they’re in the door and normally it would make David feel claustrophobic and combative, but right now, he just wants to sink into it. As much as David hates him, Lourdes makes him feel safe, and he lets himself go pliant as they make out in the hallway. David has to twist his head around and Lourdes’ neck is probably at just as weird an angle to keep them plastered together like this, but the feeling of pushing back against the bulge in Lourdes’ pants is good enough to overcome any discomfort David probably should be feeling.

At some point they stop kissing, but neither of them really moved away so they’re panting into each other’s faces when David senses it. He doesn’t know if it was the smell of it or the small whimpering noise or the way David can actually feel the shift in the rhythm of Lourdes’ hips that alerted him first because it’s all so overwhelming; all David knows is that Lourdes is literally coming against him through four layers of fabric.

After what feels like minutes, Lourdes goes completely still against him. David isn’t sure what to do because he’s so turned on but Lourdes just came and he _isn’t moving_ and David needs to get off and he’s going to kill Lourdes if this is it and he saunters off to leave David with his own hand.

“Um,” Lourdes mumbles into David’s neck. He takes a deep breath like he’s about to say something else and then just – drops. David has no idea what’s going on, is about to say so, but Lourdes is manhandling him around like David isn’t an 180 pound hockey player, and in the haze of arousal, David finds that almost as hot as being able to take an alpha apart with all of his clothes on.

David is pretty sure he moans embarrassingly when Lourdes gets a hand around him, another one dangerously close to David’s ass and David doesn’t know how he feels about that, but Lourdes doesn’t really try to do anything beyond groping at David to pull him closer when he practically swallows David in one go. He chokes a little this time, and David has to fight not to thrust up into the wet fluttering heat when he’s so desperate that he’s making his own small, pathetic noises in order to avoid begging Lourdes for something, anything, just as long as it was _more_. 

It doesn’t take him long to come, but he doesn’t even get a second to feel embarrassed before Lourdes is surging up, surprisingly agile, to kiss David again. David thinks it should be gross to taste himself on Lourdes’ tongue, but instead he finds that he likes it, almost like he has more of a claim over the alpha than the other way around.

They pull apart eventually, David feeling cold and a little ridiculous to be standing in his front hall with his pants undone, and knowing that Lourdes has to be just as uncomfortable even though he never got his pants off.

David doesn’t know what to do in this situation. Lourdes told him on the way over just how far off his curfew was, but David could pretend he forgot and Lourdes might be thankful for the way out. But if he’s not, David doesn’t know how to kick a guy who just came in his pants because of you and then gave you an amazing blowjob out of his apartment. 

“Bathroom?” Lourdes asks, waves his right hand around kind of erratically but obviously indicating the problem.

“Second door on the right,” David says, and Lourdes gets up. Before he can think any better of it, David is offering to lend him a pair of underwear, and he’s flushing even as he says it, but isn’t backing down now. 

Lourdes gets a dumb look on his face – well, dumber than usual – and stumbles over himself to accept like David just offered him – not money, because that would be weird to think about after what they’ve just done – but something valuable.

David makes sure Lourdes goes to the bathroom before he goes to fetch a pair of his older, stretched out underwear without the worry that Lourdes will trail him to his room. He’s not an alpha looking to show off how he can provide and his room is private. Lourdes doesn’t need to be in it.

David knocks on the bathroom door, opening it slightly before Lourdes can because even though they’ve done much more, seeing Lourdes naked even just from the waist down when nothing is about to happen feels like too much. He practically throws the underwear into the room and books it back to the living room where he tries to right himself. He feels off-balance. If there’s etiquette for this situation, he’s never learned it.

Lourdes comes out of the bathroom, his tie gone, tucked in his pocket, maybe, his shoes squeaking against David’s floor, which somehow surprises David even though he never even took his pants off. Normally, it would make David recoil, feel cheap and easy, but Lourdes came before him with nothing more than rubbing off against David, and while some of that feeling is still there, it’s not nearly as bad as he thinks it could be. He’s never been easy in his life, he’s been called difficult more times than he can count, but weirdly enough he feels like, well, enough with Lourdes.

It’s probably just their stupid hormones, but David likes the feeling, hasn’t really felt it since his nanny Mary Anne stuck by him and stood up to his parents on his behalf after he presented and still wanted to play hockey.

He doesn’t know what to do with that information, and maybe thinking about it is what allows Lourdes to sweep in and kiss him before he leaves. He’s talking about his early curfew and the Panthers upcoming West Coast trip and unnecessary apologies about having to leave now like he and David have anything else to do and then suddenly he’s pressing his lips to David’s and it’s soft and chaste and sweet.

Lourdes is out the door then, his Uber already outside David’s apartment complex, and it’s good because all David can do is groan and flop back onto his couch and contemplate how he let his life get to this point.

After a while, David gets up and goes to lock the door behind Lourdes. When he goes to the bathroom to get ready for bed, he finds Lourdes’ tie and he has to resist thunking his head against the counter in despair.


	3. out of contention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had A Day (or a few Days really) and writing helped as long as I avoided David's parents, so with the addition of omega!angst to David's life, I have taken away some parental angst by basically ignoring them and thinking about Mary Anne instead 1000% of the time.
> 
> I've also made it so that omega!angst both complicates and (veeery slightly) advances David's relationship(s) because why not.

David does not know what to do now. His parents might not have been well-versed in alpha-omega courtship rituals, but Mary Anne made sure he knew everything he needed to about his presentation. She was helpful in making sure David avoided attracting attention he didn’t want, and was probably the only reason he knew not to accept a “peace offering” from one of the worst alphas on his junior team. The asshole apparently thought David wouldn’t know what being offered food from an alpha would mean. David got the last laugh in the end.

Food is just about the only thing that David understands the meaning of because it’s so distinct; everything else is up to interpretation. And David does not know how to interpret a tie. Lourdes’ _tie_. 

He doesn’t even want to think about how anyone would interpret _his underwear_ as a gift and he has mostly managed to avoid thinking of it for fear that he will actually die of embarrassment. He doesn’t know how he forgot that giving an alpha anything was a terrible idea, and his underwear has to be the worst.

Nope, not thinking about it.

David redirects his attention on how to tell Lourdes that they are not courting and he better not start sending David flowers or David will find a way to murder him. He doesn’t even have Lourdes’ number though, and he’s definitely not asking anyone to pass it on.

David doesn’t get any unexpected packages though and the Islanders don’t play the Panthers for the rest of the season. He feels a bit embarrassed, thinking that Lourdes forgetting his tie was actually him trading some sort of token with David. Neither of them have the time, for one thing, and they know so little about each other. David maybe doesn't hate Lourdes as much as he did before, but that doesn’t mean that they would ever start – dating.

Once David has come to this realization, the rest of the season returns to normal. The Islanders aren’t doing well, the Panthers are doing worst, but he and Lourdes are still one and two in the Calder race. Lourdes ends the season with three more points than him. Just three. But he also has more goals than David by a fairly long shot and his status on his side. As much as David wants to think that the hockey writers will vote for his consistency, he’s sure that Lourdes will win despite spending the whole season in a series of boom or bust.

David contemplates not even going to the awards, but if he doesn’t go there will be just as many rumors. He’ll go and put on his best impassive face so that no one calls him emotional, and at least no one can contemplate if he’s off with some alpha and about to disappear from the league forever to fulfill his destined role. You’d think that sports commentators were still living in the 1800s.

He doesn’t even bother to go home. Dave told him about a camp in Toronto and David got a short-term lease that starts a week after the early end of the Islanders’ season.  It’s weird and impersonal even though David didn’t get very settled in his apartment in New York either. Sometimes he wonders if he’ll ever feel completely at home somewhere.

He buys a rug and some blankets for the apartment and tries not to think about it. His list of things not to think about is getting rather long.

The good thing about Toronto is that there are a lot of trainers who specialize in training hockey players around, and David finds a no-nonsense beta who pushes him hard but doesn’t let him hurt himself. Most of her clients are NWHL players, probably because alpha males wouldn’t let themselves be pushed around by a tiny female force of nature, but David thinks he’s getting the best out of the deal.

His days sink into a regimented simplicity that settles some of the anger still working through him as long as he studiously avoids watching any playoff games, and has him looking forward to the July camp, especially once the Leafs win the Cup and the city absolutely goes nuts with it. He’s somewhat happy that a team structured around an omega, the only one picked as high as David was in the draft, won but it doesn’t soothe the fact of the Islanders early elimination and his own shortcomings.

Altogether, it makes him sort of look forward to the NHL Awards, media-desperate farce it will inevitably be, just to break the monotony. He’s definitely not bringing anyone, not since his parents are only interested in supporting him when it furthers their publicity and he lost interest in trying to win their approval long ago and there’s no way he could bring anyone else without it getting blown up as some sort of ridiculous date.

When the end of June rolls around, David packs and heads to Vegas dreading the inexorable warmth of Vegas. He scheduled his next heat for the week between the awards and the camp, knowing that he needed to have at least one during the offseason and that being near Lourdes would probably accelerate any other plans he made anyway.

He gets in with enough time for a room service lunch, a shower, time to fiddle with his tie when it won’t lie flat against his chest, and to wage an internal debate with himself on whether gelling his hair is the appropriate course of action. He generally sticks to subdued suits and loose hair because it’s not like gel will stay in during a game and he doesn’t want announcers to talk about him preening if he wears anything more daring than a grey pinstripe.

Before he can make a decision, there’s a knock on the door. He doesn’t think it would be anyone from the league coming to get him, there’s plenty of time before he has to be in his seat, yet he still opens the door.

Lourdes is on the other side. 

“Hi,” he says. It’s just as stupidly happy as Lourdes himself usually is, but with an awkward undercurrent under it. “I just wanted to wish you luck. I know I probably won’t get to talk to you too much downstairs, but I really think you deserve the Calder.”

“Thank you,” David says uncertainly. He can’t say he thinks the same of Lourdes, and he doesn't really want to wish him luck either because everything should be based on skill even though David knows it’s not, and maybe Lourdes gets that because he doesn’t get mad, just huffs a little and brings one hand to the back of his neck and the other to his pocket.

“I also know it’s been a while, but I wanted to give you this.” He pulls his hand out of his pocket and David is too stunned to do anything when Lourdes holds it out. “I figured you’d want something practical, so… do you like it?”

David takes the wallet from him. It’s one of the one’s that’s also meant to hold phones, but it’s actually really nice, not like the frilly, unworkable ones he’s usually seen. He’s pretty sure that it’s real leather and it even has his initials embossed on the bottom, but not in an ostentatious way. The part of the case that would actually hold his phone is even magnetic and detachable so David wouldn’t have to look like an idiot holding a wallet up to his ear.

It’s probably one of the best gifts he’s ever gotten. It certainly seems to have more thought put into it than any of the gifts his parents got him growing up.

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Yeah, I like it.” And then because his brain is dumb, David asks “Why are you doing this?”

“What?” Lourdes says, taken-aback. 

David only looks at him for a second, and avoids his eyes. He wants to say “Why are you being so nice to me?” but that sounds wrong. He settles on “Why are you acting like you have to win me over? Nothing can come of this, so why the gifts and compliments?”

“I like you,” Lourdes says plainly, like it’s really just that easy. Maybe for him it is. “I know it’s far and we don’t see each other much, but I think it could work.”

“You don’t even _know me_ ; how do you know we could make _something_ work?” David snaps.

Lourdes shrugs. “I know that there are a lot of things I don’t know about you, but I know you’re strong, like mentally, to put up with all this shit,” he waves vaguely as if to encompass – what? The league? The press? Alpha teammates like Benson? Societal expectations? He has no idea what David has to put up with. But Lourdes keeps talking, leaving no room for David to rage about just how ignorant he is about what omegas have to put up with.

“And it sucks, but it made you so independent. Like, I have to call Dave for help like twice a week and he always grumbles about how he doesn’t have to put up with this with you. And you’re smart, like, you see the ice so well. I don’t think I could make half of the plays you do; it’s why you have so many more assists than me. When you score, it’s beautiful but you do so much more than that and it’s even better.”

David’s hackles have gone down some, and it does suck that the barest recognition of all David has been through is enough to get David to somewhat like Lourdes, who is basically the epitome of everything David hates about alphas – except not apparently. He seems so sincere, and David wants to trust him. It’s probably stupid, and most likely he’ll regret it later, but David turns around and sets the wallet on his nightstand. It’s not a full agreement to whatever Lourdes is suggesting, but it is a declaration of him being open to it.

“Let’s go before we’re late,” David says as he turns around. He’s done talking about this for now. He needs time to think. 

Lourdes still beams at him and walks too close to him on their way to the elevator.

 

*

 

David knew he probably wouldn’t win the Calder, but he’s still upset when they announce Jake Lourdes. He knows it isn’t Lourdes fault, but he wants to blame him just as much as the rest of the world. He doesn’t listen to his speech, hopes he doesn’t get more than a cursory mention and that no one asks him about it later, and instead stares at his shaking hands. He spares a cursory glance in Lourdes’ general direction, trying to appear professional and calm and looks just long enough to see Lourdes’ sister kissing him on the cheek. She smells kind of like Lourdes but more floral and is undeniably an alpha and that’s all David cares to get before he can politely look away.

David doesn’t want to go to the reception after, but he knows it’d be unprofessional not to, and that the same writers who deemed him unworthy of the Calder would call him a crybaby or a sore loser or an emotional, entitled omega. There are also executives he needs to shake hands with and while Dave wouldn’t actually drag him back to the party, he would scream at him if he knew David was considering just going up to his hotel room and ordering like an entire cake. Or maybe just heading to the airport and seeing if there are any red-eyes out so he can emotionally eat and nest a little in peace.

So he goes to the reception because it’s part of his job and makes sure to get a non-alcoholic drink in full view of multiple people because he can’t break American alcohol laws as an omega even as a famous athlete in a league with numerous Canadians who have been drinking before David for years without getting eviscerated in the media the next day. The room is packed but he can still pick out Lourdes’ scent and avoid him as he schmoozes big wigs he barely knows. If he sees Lourdes now he’ll do something like yell at him and then rumors will start and whatever it is they’ve been doing will be everywhere and David will never hear the end of it.

It gets harder when Lourdes splits up from his family. There’s too many smells in the room to tell them apart and avoiding three at once is much harder to do without making it look obvious that he’s avoiding someone. He doesn’t think Lourdes is smart enough to actually orchestrate anything, but it’s shortly after that that he finds David with a beer in hand even though he’s only nineteen and in a room full of people he’s supposed to impress. David’s desire to yell about double standards only increases. He probably doesn’t even know that no one cares if he’s streaky, or slewfoots someone, or instigates a fight, or drinks but if David so much as high-sticks someone accidentally, he gets called “out of control.”

David smiles, trying to make it look as polite as possible when he says, “Not now, Lourdes” and hopes that it’s convincing enough for no one to write an article about him telling his rival to basically fuck off in a room of important people – how scandalous.

Lourdes looks taken-aback, but he recovers quickly. “Sorry. Can I come to your room after? Or you come to mine? I just want to talk.”

“Not now, Lourdes,” David bites out again, afraid that if he tries to say anything else, everything is going to come spilling out in front of every major executive in the NHL and some of its best players and a ton of media that would just love to write all about the omega David Chapman breaking down into tears after not winning an award.

“David,” Lourdes says, reaching out, his hand brushing David’s sleeve, and David jerks his hand back, cold orange juice splashing on his skin. The shock of it isn’t enough to stop his eyes from filling as he loses control over his body’s stupid impulse to cry whenever he’s frustrated or angry or sad or a mix of all three. He lost because everyone loves stereotypical nice alpha Jake Lourdes and even David is stupid enough to get pulled in whenever he’s around, and no one has ever felt that way about David.

“I have to go,” David says, turns heel and walks out like a coward, dropping the glass on some unused table on his way out. He makes it as far as the elevator bay, stabs the up button and presses the heel of his hands into his eyes, trying to get his breathing back to even, when he hears rapid footfall behind him and knows it’s Lourdes, because he never leaves anything _alone_.

“It’s bullshit, okay?” Lourdes says. “Everyone knows you did better than me, you barely went a game without a point. It’s a bullshit award.”

“And yet you’re the one who won it,” David says, not taking his hands off his eyes, so he startles, hard, when Lourdes grabs him by the arm. He feels like he should punch him or try to shake him off, they’re in the middle of the lobby for God’s sake and Lourdes is touching him like, like he knows him, while David is having a stupid emotional breakdown.

“I would have voted for you,” Lourdes says. “And so would most of the guys in the league. They’re just reporters, David, they don’t know shit.”

David hears the elevator doors open and lowers his hands, hopes his eyes aren’t red. He thinks about snapping at Lourdes not to use his name like he did the first time they met, but even if he’s mad at the entire situation, that doesn’t mean he should be petty and take it out on Lourdes. He settles on “Enjoy your party,” which still isn’t the most mature of responses – it’s not like the party is just for Jake Lourdes even if it feels that way sometimes. He pulls his arm free from Lourdes’ loose grip and steps in the elevators.

Lourdes gets in right beside him. “Your room or mine?” he asks.

David stares at him until the doors shut.

“Okay,” Lourdes says. “I’m on the twelfth.” He presses the button.

“What are you doing?” David asks.

Lourdes shrugs. “Hanging out with you,” he says.

“You just won the Calder,” David says. “Your family is here.”

“They’ll be here tomorrow,” Lourdes says.

He doesn’t mean to say it, but he asks, “What if someone notices we’re both gone?”

“What are they going to do? There’s dozens of players at that party. Some of them left way before us. It’s not like the first instinct will be to say the two rivals are buddies now. They’d be more likely to say we went to throw down in the ballroom.”

That startles a laugh out of David. Maybe he still doesn’t understand what that would mean for David, but there is something for Lourdes to lose if they’re caught out. And maybe he does have a bit of a point.

The doors open on twelve, and Lourdes steps out. “Coming?” he asks.

David does. He tells himself it’s only because his room’s on the same floor, and that’s a good enough excuse until they get to Lourdes’ door. He knows why he follows Lourdes to his room, too, but he’s not quite ready to think of that yet.

Lourdes opens the door, hand hesitantly going towards the light switch but not bothering to flip them on when David doesn’t move. Once the door closes, Lourdes is turning, leaning down to press his mouth against David’s, only pulling back when David turns his face away, and then only to drop to his knees.

David doesn’t like this. He thought it was what he needed, but now that Lourdes’ hands are on his belt, it only feels like pity sex comfort. “Don’t,” David says.

Lourdes looks up at him, face half lit by the bright lights outside the window and it’s one of the best things David has seen, but it’s not enough. The Calder Memorial Trophy winner’s on his knees in front of David just a few hours after he won, and that’s not enough. David never gets first place, and one of the big reasons – or at least the biggest excuse – is kneeling in front of him.

“What can I do?” Lourdes asks.

“I want to fuck you,” David says, the words coming out before David has really thought of them, but it seems right after he’s said them. No alpha he knows would willingly do that, and it’s better for Lourdes to prove himself for the coward David knows he is before David goes any further.

He expects Lourdes to startle, to pull back, but Lourdes just blinks twice and says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” David repeats blankly. That was obviously not what he expected. “What do you mean, _okay_?”

He’s already striding over to the bag on the bench at the foot of the bed before David finishes his question. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I – aha!” 

He flourishes a small bottle of what looks like hand sanitizer but David assumes is lube and a strip of condoms. Prepared, of course.

“Do you do this often?” David can’t help but ask. It’s probably really rude, but he honestly can’t contemplate why else Lourdes would have lube when he’s only ever seen him with omegas and the occasional beta girl.

Lourdes just shrugs. “Not really. I mean, I’m not opposed to it. I don’t think I’m saying this right,” he babbles and trails off.

“Who even are you? How can you be so okay with this?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I don’t want you to say what you think I want to hear! Would you really go this far just to get in my pants? Do you not have a dozen pretty little omegas lined up for you at whatever hole in the wall bar in Florida?”

“I’m not some asshole,” Lourdes snaps. “I don’t know what made you think that of me, but I don’t know what to say to you except you’re the one being an asshole. I wouldn’t lie like that just to sleep with someone, Jesus.”

David winces. “Sorry,” he says, knee-jerk, even if he doesn’t really want to. It’s the first time he’s seen Lourdes look angry off the ice, and he doesn’t want him to be, but he honestly has no idea how to understand this situation. 

The anger’s off Lourdes’ face almost as soon as it’s arrived. “There isn’t anyone–” he starts, then chews his lip. “I don’t have a girlfriend or anything.” He cuts his eyes to the side, voice getting quieter. “Or boyfriend.”

“Okay,” David says. He looks away from Lourdes face, focusing on cataloguing the minute differences between their hotel rooms. “Good for you.”

“David,” Lourdes sighs. “What I mean is that – is that I’m serious about you. I don’t just sleep with random people and bring them gifts and let them fuck me.” 

David shifts uncomfortably. He’s not sure that knowing any of that actually helps. If anything, it just makes him feel more overwhelmed. Maybe Lourdes can smell it on him because his lopsided, joking smile fades and he says “We don’t have to. We could just hang, get room service, watch a movie or something.”

“No,” David snaps. If Lourdes is willing to do this, then David is too. He’s not a coward. He won’t let himself be.

“Okay,” Lourdes says, and it still sound placating enough to make David bristle a little, but then Lourdes is shrugging out of his jacket and tugging off his tie and David gets caught watching him, the slow reveal of his throat, his collarbones, when Lourdes starts unbuttoning his shirt. Lourdes looks up at him, pupils blown wide and he can probably smell just how turned on David is already. He swallows, scenting Lourdes, and then starts to undress himself.

He sheds his jacket, laying it on the bureau, taking off the cufflinks he’d always considered lucky, putting them in his right pocket, alongside his useless speech, though maybe he should just throw them out. Or give them to Lourdes, because every time David’s worn them, Lourdes has beaten him out, left him with second place.

David still forgets just how well Lourdes can scent him, and startles when Lourdes wraps his arms around his waist and tucks his head into David’s hair. It’s an obvious show of comfort, and David didn’t even notice how much he was probably giving away.

“Sorry,” David says. Even though Lourdes has been surprisingly nice, he doesn’t want to give him any other hint of weakness. 

“It’s okay,” Lourdes replies. When he steps back, he slides David’s dress shirt from his shoulders. David kind of wants to protest his shirt crumpling on the floor, but Lourdes is down to just his boxer briefs already and David busies himself with his belt instead. He doesn’t let Lourdes help, shooing him towards the bed so he can take the extra few seconds to fold his pants and lay then over a chair so they don’t wrinkle too bad. 

Lourdes laughs at him, and David flushes immediately. 

“Hey, no, it’s fine. C’mere,” Lourdes says. He’s propped up on his elbows on the bed, underwear still on but David can still see – and smell, God, the smell – how turned on Lourdes is. David walks over, doesn’t flinch when Lourdes puts a hand on his jaw, pulls him in for a kiss, though he pulls back before Lourdes can deepen it. 

“David,” Lourdes says, lips almost brushing David’s, and David wants to tell him he can’t call him that, not necessarily because of the same feelings as that first day they met, but because it still feels off, too close despite everything they’ve done. It emphatically does not feel like the time, however. 

“Lie down,” David says, instead, and Lourdes does, shifting his hips up to slide his underwear off. David stares for a second at Lourdes’ half-hard cock, tracing where his knot is raised slightly, imagining what it would look like fully hard, until Lourdes shifts, and when David meets his eyes, Lourdes’ cheeks are flushed. 

“Can you just–” Lourdes says, and David kneels on the bed, curving one hand over Lourdes’ knee, incongruously skinny when he’s muscle everywhere else, broader than David, who still can’t put more weight on no matter how hard he tries. His hands don’t shake when he reaches for the small bottle of lube, a small mercy he’s thankful for as he slicks his fingers.

“Turn on your stomach,” David says, quiet, and Lourdes does, grabbing a pillow and sliding it under his hips, which David wouldn’t have thought of. It makes him feel more nervous, though he tries not to let it show or leak into his scent. Even though Lourdes might not have done _this_ often, it doesn’t mean he hasn’t done other things. It was one thing to blow Lourdes not knowing what he was doing, but the full extent of his experience is from the internet and Lourdes having condoms and lube on hand and sucking David’s cock as well as he has indicates that it’s probably _a lot_ of other things.

The lube’s cool, though David doesn’t really understand the consequences of that until Lourdes is sucking a quick, uncomfortable breath in when David presses his middle finger against him then says, quick and apologetic, “cold,” when David stills, afraid he’s already done something wrong, something telling. He figures not really understanding lube isn’t that big of a faux pas for an omega though.

“Sorry,” David says, and he’s starting to think he’s said that word to Lourdes more than anyone else in his life. David tries not to have anything to be sorry for, and tries not to show weakness even when he does, but that doesn't seem to apply around Lourdes.

“S’cool,” Lourdes says, takes another breath in, shakier, when David presses his finger in. Despite the lube slicking his fingers, Lourdes is tight, almost painfully so, which he guesses isn’t that surprising but is still enough that David wonders how he’s actually supposed to get his dick in him. He goes slow by necessity, Lourdes relaxing incrementally around him, until he says, “You can use another,” and David does, unable to stop looking at the clench of his hole, the muscles of his ass, the long line of his back, unbroken by anything other than freckles and a few moles, his head pillowed on his arms, mostly hidden by the fall of his hair.

Even with his face obscured, he’s responsive, hips shifting up against David’s fingers, at first incremental and then more when David’s three fingers deep, his breath hitching into a caught moan when David presumably hits his prostate, judging by the repeat performance once he targets the spot. It can’t be as sensitive as an omega’s but Lourdes still seems to like it. His muscles are tense, coiled, but he stays open around David’s fingers, and it probably shouldn’t but it bothers him, the way Lourdes takes it when David can’t and he was supposedly made for this. 

“Fuck me,” Lourdes says, muffled into his arm, and when David stills, more distinct. “David, _fuck_ me.”

David pulls his fingers out, fumbling for a condom, wrinkling his nose when he has to wipe his fingers off on the comforter before he can manage to get it open.

“David,” Lourdes says, impatient sounding, and David fumbles to slick himself, using the lube even though he’s producing too much slick now for Lourdes’ sheets to be functional the rest of the night. That would be too much on so many different levels.

“Get up on your knees,” David says, voice miraculously steady, even if his hands aren’t. Lourdes does, and it’s easy, it’s so easy to wrap a hand around himself, guide himself into Lourdes’ body. 

“Just – slow,” Lourdes says, voice as shaky as David’s wasn’t, and there isn’t really another option, Lourdes so tight around him. David’s slow until he isn’t, until he can’t be, a hand on Lourdes’ hip, another on his cock, half-hard until David gets his hand around it, which gets Lourdes’ breath back to a panting, uneven pull, gets Lourdes tightening around him every time David rubs his thumb against the tip of his cock or the base of his knot.

David will be damned if he gets off before Lourdes does, his lip between his teeth just to have the sting hold him back. He’s also afraid that if he doesn’t, he might bite Lourdes shoulder because that seems like _a really good idea_ to his instinctual brain right now but some part of David’s higher functioning is still working enough to project _bad idea_ enough to drown that out.

“Please,” Lourdes says, under his breath, repeats it like he doesn’t even know he’s saying it, and nothing would make David happier than having Lourdes beg and doing the opposite, but he can’t stop, riding the edge and trying to take Lourdes with him. It’s a near thing, but Lourdes does come first, spilling hot into David’s hand, and David can’t help jerking into him, once, twice, before he too comes.

Lourdes sinks down to his elbows, and David’s pulled with him while he catches his breath, until he pulls out. He can't imagine staying there any longer, doesn't know what he'd do if an alpha ever actually knotted him, and can't really picture the events leading up to that point any way.

He uses tugging the condom off and disposing of it as an excuse to get up and move about a bit. David doesn't like being that close after sex, doesn't know what to do with it, so he goes to the bathroom and drops the condom in the garbage, washes his hands and cleans himself up a bit, and wets a wash cloth back with him for Lourdes because he's not rude. When he comes back, Lourdes is still on his stomach, blinking at him with half-lidded eyes.

“C’mere,” Lourdes says, when David starts to look for his underwear.

David throws him the washcloth but doesn't move any further. He's feeling claustrophobic, pinned down, and he has to get out of here and actually think for a minute without the haze of lust and hormones. “I have to go,” David says, finds his briefs near the foot of the bed, tugging them on.

“You don’t,” Lourdes says, frowning and sitting up. “I mean unless you’re going back to the reception. I can come, then.”

“No,” David says, flatly, vaguely upset that Lourdes brought the reception up again, and more aggravated by how that makes him feel more confined. He finds his pants closer to the door. “I’m not going to the reception.”

“Then will you just come here?” Lourdes asks.

David finds his shirt, curses himself for not wearing an undershirt, debating whether the risk of walking down the hall with an open shirt is acceptable. Probably not. He starts buttoning from the top.

“David,” Lourdes says.

“Stop calling me that,” David snaps. Too many expectations are coming at him all at once and he can't handle it right now.

Lourdes is silent for a moment. “It’s your name,” he says, finally.

“And I never gave you the right to call me it,” David says.

Lourdes is quiet again, and David walks out before he has the chance to say anything else. It's just as much him not wanting to hear what Lourdes is thinking as not wanting to say something he'll regret. David's not sure what that would be, probably something about the award that Lourdes doesn't deserve that David knew he wouldn't win anyway that is somehow a twisted metaphor for everything in David's life. David has never really been in contention for anything, regardless of how much he's fought for it, and he doesn't think he will be anytime in the future.


End file.
